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An Ammrau 

Some few personal experiences. 

By Katherine M, Volk 



Press of 

The E. S. Schulte Printing Co 

Cleveland, O. 






Dedicated to 
The friends of my childhood 
who were "friends indeed". 



Copyriilit 1916 lj|iiiiTI(l lii M. Volk 

DEC -B 1916 

©CI,A445974 



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HIS little booklet is the re- 
sult of requests to tell the 
same story over and over 
again. At the suggestion 
of very dear friends and 
with their assistance as well as that 
of my sister Mary this story will go 
on it's way giving an intimate view 
of the individual and ''patient" 
soldier. 

How human, and like the rest of 
us he is after all! 

Every detail of this story is true 
and I have always considered it a 
great privilege to have been of some 
small service to those who needed it 
so badly. The tale is told without 
claiming any literary merits but only 
wishing for the prayers of the people 
that the war soon ceases. 



An Ammratt "^rt|uifstpr' 




ET ready to leave for Europe 
tomorrow," was the 
message that greeted my 
ears over the telephone. 
A week later, one hundred 
and sixty graduate nurses 
and thirty surgeons boarded the Amer- 
ican Red Cross ship in the Hudson 
River. These were the sole pas- 
sengers on this unique ship dedicated 
to a no less unique mission. 

We remained in this beautiful har- 
bor for a week with all on board and 
finally sailed the thirteenth of Sep- 
tember, nineteen hundred and four- 
teen. Craft of every sort gave us 
salute, tugs, ships, and pleasure boats 
vying with one another to greet us 
first. Some blew whistles, and those 
that were large enough to carry a 
flag solemnly dipped it as we passed 
by. That we were on a serious mis- 
sion we knew, but this farewell im- 
pressed its character still more deep- 
ly. Coney Island with its gay and 



glaring lights was left behind, and 
then New Jersey, from its highland 
light, flashed a beacon toward us far 
and long, as if wishing to light our 
way. 

Rear Admiral Ward of the United 
States joined us at Falmouth, Eng- 
land, and took command of the 
expedition. There, in the midst of 
many other ships and many other 
flags did we begin to realize the 
significance of our own Stars and 
Stripes, and we felt a certain comfort 
in being sheltered under them. 
Another week was spent at Falmouth 
in making further arrangements for 
our safety as a neutral ship in various 
ports of the warring countries. Shore 
leave was given us and we eagerly 
took advantage of the opportunity 
to see that quaint sea-port. We 
attracted as much attention in our 
uniforms as any group of soldiers, 
and a tiny lad of about six years gave 
us the soldiers salute. This was an 
initiation. Even though we were in 
honor bound not to seem curious, or 
to commit ourselves in any way 



concerning the war, we could not 
avoid hearing the Enghsh side. Re- 
marks were continually being made 
and one elderly lady said to us, ''Of 
course you really belong to us any- 
way, you know." 

The voyage in the English Channel 
and North Sea was not without its 
thrilling sights. The lonely body of 
a dead sailor came floating by face 
down in the chill water. Fifteen 
torpedo boats were counted on the 
horizon at one time in plain sight. 
They saw us too, and one of them 
dashed up to us to investigate. It 
was soon satisfied. There was con- 
stant danger of striking a mine in 
this region even after we had taken 
on a pilot who knew as well as any 
other where they were located. No 
one seemed alarmed, but all were 
perhaps a little subdued until we 
reached the land of the wooden 
shoe where, at Rotterdam, the 
voyage ended, the first week of Octo- 
ber. Then while we were still draw- 
ing the first long breaths of relief, 
sounds were heard, faint and far 



away but unmistakable. It was the 
bombardment of Antwerp. A few 
days later came the refugees. They 
poured into little Holland with packs 
on their backs and with children 
clinging to their hands. Thou- 
sands of children were brought 
in homeless and alone. They were a 
forlorn-looking lot, but the people of 
Rotterdam seemed not to murmur. 
A special train took us on into 
Germany and to Vienna. Those of 
us who were detailed for service in 
Budapest went by regular passenger 
train to our destination. Soldiers 
fare was handed out to us at nearly 
every station where they were pre- 
pared to care for the military trains 
going through. Everywhere we 
stopped, either the first, second, or 
third class waiting room was turned 
over to Red Cross service, and sand- 
wiches with hot coffee, tea and some- 
times cocoa were given us. At one 
place a station guard noticed a small 
American flag that was carried by 
one of the nurses, and though he 
could not speak to her she soon un- 



derstood that he wished to have it. 
She handed it to him as the train was 
puUing out and we saw him kiss it 
fervently. Words were not necessary 
for we understood. 

At BerHn we were received and 
entertained by our Ambassador and 
his wife. At Breslau a banquet was 
waiting for us and we were requested 
to sing ''America." Surely there 
were few foreigners who would have 
dared to sing a national song as we 
did in that country. Our destination 
was reached at last. By this time 
only thirteen nurses and three sur- 
geons were left, the number detailed 
for Budapest. 

A large new building which had 
been occupied by the blind was 
vacated for our use and it was soon 
turned into a battle field, a battle 
field for life and not for death. Forty- 
two patients arrived with the first 
transport assigned to us. How grate- 
ful they were to get into beds and 
sleep! Two days later thirty-seven 
more came. The wounds of most of 
them had gone for several days with- 



out being dressed after the first aid. 
All were therefore in a very bad con- 
dition and to describe them would 
mean leading you into the worst 
imaginable scenes of gangrene and 
deformity. The men were all more 
or less emaciated because of the 
inability to supply the human body 
with the ordinary needs of civiliza- 
tion, while living or existing in 
trenches. Sometimes the snow was 
too deep or the mud too thick to get 
the proper amount of food to the 
regiments. Even when admitted to 
our hospital the men would cling to a 
loaf of rye bread with a tenacity that 
only one who has known hunger 
could show. Such young, patient, 
grateful men they were ! One of them 
was told that his feet were so badly 
frozen that amputation would be 
necessary in order to save his life. 
His consent was given, but he seemed 
most concerned about his mother, 
repeating to the nurse in German 
'' Please don't tell my mother, will 
you?" Upon regaining conscious- 
ness when it was all over, he said, 



''You didn't tell my mother, did 
you?" The nurse, of course, had not 
seen her and so could answer in the 
negative. 

To be a trained nurse does not 
mean to be unmindful of or to be 
unimpressed by the patient's awful 
condition, especially when dressing 
wounds so large that one can bury a 
hand in them. A nurse must not 
allow the patient to think that she is 
alarmed or that she considers him 
critically ill; she may act uncon- 
cerned and yet feel such sympathy 
that she sheds tears where he can 
not see them. 

The Carpathian Mountains, where 
there is intense cold as early as 
October, were responsible for many 
victims who were suffering from 
frost. These were kept in the hospi- 
tal nearly all winter. Some lost both 
feet; others more fortunate but not 
fortunate enough, lost only part of a 
foot or a few of their toes. We could 
not replace toes or feet but we did 
all that was possible to assist nature 
in healing the maimed parts. 



One wounded German gave me a 
post card that he had in his hip 
pocket at the time the bullet struck 
him. It had gone through the card 
leaving a hole on its way. 

A Roumanian Hungarian Gypsy 
with a severe shrapnel face-wound 
told us that he was left behind to die 
because he would be of no use to the 
military again if he did live. He 
crawled on his hands and knees for 
about three miles and then was sent 
on to the hospital where we found 
that not only the greater part of one 
cheek, but also part of his nose, had 
been shot away. He was only twen- 
ty-two, and had beautiful big brown 
eyes that seemed to express all that 
he could not say with his mutilated 
face. Cases like his are not sent back 
to the army because they are too 
depressing to the others. Story after 
story similar to this could be related 
without exaggeration, but it would 
be too heartbreaking. All that is left 
for us to do is to hope and pray that 
the war will soon cease. 

The Austrians and Hungarians who 



could speak German always said 
''Kissa de handt," and sometimes 
suited the action to the word. Those 
who were able to be on their feet 
gave us the soldier's salute and were 
very courteous. As they regained 
health and strength we could not 
feel that they were looking forward 
with that joy which other patients 
know. They were soldiers, and com- 
plete recovery meant another trip to 
the battle-field and another possi- 
bility of being brought to the hos- 
pital. A man may be in duty bound 
to go when his country calls him, but 
nature turns him toward his family, 
which he must leave behind to work 
out its own salvation. 

Among my patients was a stalwart 
Austrian, a medical case. He had 
not been in the hospital very long 
when he was pronounced cured. It 
was three days before Christmas, and 
the prospect of going home for that 
day made him the happiest of all in 
that ward of thirty men. He seemed 
to bubble over with joy, and one 
night as I was going off duty he stood 



up before them all and sang a solo. 
His deep rich voice was such a treat 
to hear! And his act was so easy and 
spontaneous! The time came for 
him to go, and he donned his uniform. 
As he waited with other soldiers for 
the final word, the military authori- 
ties told him that no more furloughs 
were granted and that he must re- 
turn to the front without going home. 
His large fine frame shook with sobs 
and no one could help him. 

Discharging a soldier was not al- 
ways the last that was heard of him, 
for many of them wrote to us later. 
For instance, a twenty-seven year 
old Bohemian sent a card telling 
of his condition. 

He had been treated in the hospital 
after a bullet had gone through the 
front of his cap fracturing the bridge 
of his nose. Many times a day did 
the nurse syringe the nasal canals to 
keep them free from pus which had 
begun to form before he reached us. 
Owing to the discharge and infection 
of the wound the sight of one of his 
eyes was impaired. He wrote on the 



card, ''You may not remember me 
or my name, but you would surely 
remember my nose if you saw it.'* 
There was no doubt as to the identity 
of the writer. 

The question has often been asked, 
''How did you understand them, how 
could you speak to them? It is true 
that the American Red Cross nurses 
could not speak all of the languages 
of those who came under their care. 
For instance, there would be side by 
side, perhaps, a man who spoke only 
Slavish, and a Roumanian, and a 
a Bosnian from near Turkey, and a 
Hungarian whose home was near 
Italy, and whose language was Ital- 
ian. Many a Pole and Croat knew 
only the language of his own locality. 
The language problem was not the 
only one that had to be dealt with, 
but they all added interest to the 
work. We had two interpreters who 
spoke several languages, and the 
patients helped one another as well. 
Those who had any education at all 
almost always spoke two languages, 
and often more. Some of the nurses 



were fortunate enough to speak Ger- 
man and all studied some Hungarian. 
This afforded a great deal of amuse- 
ment. Any effort to speak their 
native tongue pleased the people and 
seemed to arouse their admiration. 
Someone somewhere was always act- 
ing as teacher or pupil in the study of 
Hungarian, German or English. 

A fine little Austrian from Bohemia 
who was in the hospital for some time 
with rheumatism and a bad heart 
was very anxious to learn English. 
He said he had a brother in Texas 
whom he hoped to join as soon as the 
war was over. This young chap was 
pale and aenemic. His eyes looked so 
large and appealing that one could 
not help being patient with him nor 
refuse to teach him whatever he 
wished. So whenever there was a 
spare moment he would write sen- 
tences and tell what they were in 
German and I would translate and 
write them for him in English. After 
several weeks, during which little im- 
provement was visible, he was dis- 
charged and sent to a convalescent 



hospital, where, we hope, he made 
more rapid strides to recovery. 
Henry, for that was the lad's name, 
was only one example of what hap- 
pens to many bright young lives. 
Complete recovery could be looked 
for only where attention could be 
given to every detail, and only after 
a protracted convalescence. 

Two men lay side by side in the 
ward, each with his right leg in a 
plaster cast. While patiently wait- 
ing for the bones to knit they became 
the best of comrades and one of thern 
always did the interpreting in Ger- 
man for the other Hungarian who 
was limited to one language. Noth- 
ing was too much trouble for No. 17 
to do for No. 16. No. 17 told the 
story of what had happened at the 
time he was wounded. Several sol- 
diers, he said, were in a tent engaged 
in various occupations, when sud- 
denly a terrific noise was heard. It 
was the explosion of a shrapnel just 
above them. After the excitement 
was over they found one of their 
companions in his former sitting 



posture, face turned upward, with- 
out a sign of a wound, but dead. 

To speak English to a new trans- 
port was usually of no avail. As 
time was an important factor in car- 
ing for so many at once, the doctor, 
while dressing the wounds of a cer- 
tain patient, essayed him in all the 
languages that he had used in speak- 
ing to the others. This soldier 
seemed uncommonly stupid and did 
not reply until he discovered what 
the doctor was trying to say, when 
he answered in perfect English, ''It 
doesn't pain very much." He later 
told us that he had been in America 
for several years and had there ac- 
quired his knowledge of English. 
The United States is always spoken 
of in Europe as America. If all the 
soldiers come to America at the close 
of the war that said they would, few 
men will be left in the old country. 

One poor fellow who had a complex 
fracture was also suffering from 
tetanus. I was detailed to ''special" 
him, which permitted me to spend 
considerable time working over him. 



Thus it was discovered during his 
rational periods that he had been in 
America six years, and was able to 
understand and speak our language 
quite well. This information was 
passed on to the doctor who was 
somewhat surprised, for the patient 
had been with us for several days 
and had scarcely seemed able to say 
anything even in his own tongue. 
When the doctor made his rounds 
next time he said to the patient, 
''How do you feel?" and he replied 
with difficulty, but plainly, ''Sick." 
He died a few days later. 

Scabo, otherwise known as No. 83, 
was a patient in ward eight and bed 
number three. His long confinement 
to his bed made him well known, and 
his patience was exemplary. His 
wife often visited him in the hospital. 
On one of her visits he asked her to 
bring a bouquet of flowers for the 
nurses; at another time he noticed 
that one of the attendants was suffer- 
ing with a headache, and asked the 
nurse to give him some medicine. 
We looked at each other and smiled 



22 




A VISIT FROM THE FAMILY 



at the thoughtfulness of this dying 
man. 

Men who were not physically able 
to go to the front were made to do mil- 
itary duty in other ways. Thus it hap- 
pened that there was a father serving 
as an attendant while his son was a 
patient in the hospital. Each seemed 
quite contented, even though the son 
had a bad deep wound just below the 
heart which kept discharging for 
several months after he was injured. 
He looked so well and able bodied 
when up and dressed that no one 
would have suspected the terrible 
wound concealed beneath his uni- 
form. 

Among the men doing military 
duty as attendants were actors, 
dancing masters, photographers, a 
jockey and others of various voca- 
tions. This made it difficult for 
them to act as orderlies to the pa- 
tients, and it also increased the 
nurses' task of directing. With per- 
severence and by maintaining a 
strict professional attitude, however, 
we succeeded in gaining and holding 



the respect of the man in the bed as 
well as that of all others. It also 
took some time for the officials of the 
military to accept us as skilled pro- 
fessional women, and to accord us 
the positions due to our ability and 
training. Several weeks of faithful 
duty, however, left no question in 
their minds and our standing was 
assured. The loyalty of the patients 
to us was felt by the officials and by 
the many visitors who found our 
hospital an interesting place. A 
Greek Catholic Bishop who had 
made the rounds one morning con- 
versing with them in their own lan- 
guages, afterwards said he asked 
them how they liked the American 
nurses, and they replied, ''They are 
angels." Incidents of this kind were 
some of the compensations that we 
had for our labor and they helped to 
smooth our way. 

Visitors of many types were con- 
tinually calling. Princess Augusta 
often visited the soldiers in the hos- 
pital; she gave some of them cards, 
and here and there a rosary. Not 

25 



uncommonly titled ladies would pass 
cigarettes to the patients. One Hun- 
garian lady made herself quite useful 
by writing cards for those who were 
not able to do so. This pleased them 
very much. 

Nelly Bly, the war correspondent, 
was also one of our visitors. I had 
been speaking to her for a few min- 
utes, though I did not know who she 
was, when I exclaimed, ''My, how 
pleasant it seems to hear someone 
outside of our own little circle speak 
good American English." She 
laughed and said she didn't know 
just how good her English was. 
Later she left Budapest and went to 
Servia, but she called again on her 
return and gave us a description of 
what she found. It was our good 
fortune to meet many interesting 
characters, some of them all the more 
interesting because of the positions 
in which they were found, such as 
the president of one of the largest 
torpedo factories in the world, acting 
as a secretary to the American Red 
Cross Military Hospital. He was 

26 



under the surveillance of the Hun- 
garian officials, because he was an 
Englishman and a prisoner of war. 
The factory was located in Fiume, 
Hungary. At the outbreak of the 
war this president, Mr. A. E. Jones, 
was imprisoned for two months and 
then allowed his liberty on condition 
that he report regularly without fail 
to the police. Mr. Jones said he had 
lived in Hungary no less than twenty- 
eight years and had many friends 
among the Hungarians. Neverthe- 
less, he is a prisoner, and his invalid 
wife at home is awaiting the end of 
the war with the hope that it will 
bring her husband back to her in 
England. He was a friend of the 
nurses. Any service he could render 
them gave him pleasure. So he was 
frequently called upon to do little 
errands. He never refused, whether 
it was to take a roll of kodak films to 
be developed or to buy some little 
delicacy. He invited us out to dinner 
at different times in small groups, 
and during a conversation he was 
asked what he would do if Budapest 

21 



were taken by the Russians. He very 
promptly replied that he would 
* 'Treat the Russian General to cham- 
pagne." That was another light on 
the subject. When we sang ''Amer- 
ica" he joined us and he sang 
"God Save the King." Probably 
the only place in that country where 
he could take that liberty was under 
the American flag. 

Many strange domestic complica- 
tions arose from this awful war. A 
fine Hungarian oflicer who called 
upon us frequently was parted from 
his wife and child who were in Eng- 
land. Because his wife was an Eng- 
lish woman she dared not make the 
trip to be with her husband. In one 
of the homes where we were welcome 
guests the wife of the artist had a 
sister whose husband was French, 
while the sister herself was German. 
Within the very building which we 
were using, a small blind boy was still 
housed whose parents were in Amer- 
ica and unable to get back to claim 
him. Other children of the institu- 
tion were taken to their homes. Two 



Irish lads who were medical students 
in civil life were doing duty in a hos- 
pital there in Budapest, while being 
held as prisoners. A Boer from 
Africa, who, as an English subject, 
was also a prisoner of war, was em~ 
ployed by the Hungarian military to 
act as interpreter for us. When he 
learned that I was about to leave the 
country for home, he asked me to 
mail a few letters for him to his wife. 
He had not heard from her and be- 
lieved that his mail was being held. 
I consented readil}^ at first, but after 
thinking it over and realizing his posi- 
tion and mine, I told him I could not 
do so. Knowing that we were con- 
sidered guests of the Hungarian 
country and were treated as such, it 
would be taking undue advantage of 
our privileges. 

When possible amusements were 
provided for the soldiers in the hos- 
pital. A gypsy band played for them 
on our American Thanksgiving Day 
and the strains were carried through 
the corriders into the different wards. 
The music gave them something else 



to think of, at least for the time be- 
ing. Singers and elocutionists also 
gave their services. Many of the 
patients were able to leave their 
beds and gather around the stairway 
and in the halls, where they showed 
their appreciation of the entertain- 
ment. A retired prima donna who 
lives in Buda, sang for the soldiers 
only. She invited our American 
girls to tea in her home, which is said 
to be the richest in the city. She 
seemed to have there all that heart 
could desire. Among her treasures 
were sixty-five kinds of musical in- 
struments of different countries. An- 
other home where we were welcomed 
was across the Danube on the Buda 
side. It was built on the hill, whence 
there was a wide and beautiful view 
overlooking the river and Pest be- 
yond. 

Life in the hospital was not all 
shadow. We had many sunny mo- 
ments, and one of the brightest was 
when the Austro-Hungarian Govern- 
ment decorated us with silver medals 
for Red Cross War Services. The 



30 



presentation was accompanied by 
considerable ceremony and a spirit 
of good fellowship. A certificate 
bearing the signature of Franz Sal- 
vator was given with the decoration 
to each member of the Unit. We 
would have been quite content with- 
out this special recognition, which 
w^as a pleasant surprise. In contrast 
to this scene was the death of a fine 
large German officer at the very hour 
in the room beyond. Only two days 
before I had been chatting with him 
while he was eating his supper. He 
spoke of his wife and children whom 
he was looking forward to seeing in 
the near future. I told him of my 
plan to leave for America soon, and 
he smilingly promised to go on the 
same train with me as far as his 
home. No one knew then that the 
gas gangrene bacilli were already 
lodged in his system and would do 
their deadly work so soon. 

The moments were few in which we 
did not see or hear the results of the 
carnage that was being wrought 
without any apparent signs of ceas- 



ing. Nearly any time of the day, by 
looking out of the window, in the 
front of the hospital, we could see 
train after train of box cars going by 
filled with troops. As soon as the 
soldiers caught sight of our flag and 
the Red Cross beside it, they always 
cheered and shouted as only hosts of 
men could. To us this significant 
sound became a very familiar one. 
When the trains did not carry human 
loads they were carrying cannon, 
automobile trucks, and other military 
requirements. This kept up not only 
through the day, but through the 
night as well. The capacity of the 
box cars was limited to eight horses 
or forty soldiers. The doors of the 
cars were always crowded by the 
poor fellows who enjoyed the very 
sight of the Stars and Stripes. How 
many of them never came back we 
did not know. They were on their 
way. 

March first came and my sister 
and I left for home, the United 
States. Surely a more cosmopolitan 
group seldom before met at a depot 



32 



to say farewell to two American girls. 
Baron Popper and Major Sarmy, two 
Hungarian officials, were there, be- 
sides the two English prisoners of 
war, two of our American doctors, 
and many of our nurses. All were 
bound together by the common in- 
terest of the wounded soldier. Our 
passage was engaged on an Italian 
steamer which sailed from Naples on 
the seventeenth of March. My sister 
and I thought we would attempt a 
trip into Germany. Some said, ''You 
had better not try it," since the train 
accommodations and schedules were 
most uncertain. On into southern 
Germany we went, however, through 
Salzburg at the border of Austria 
and Germany, through Munich, stop- 
ping there six hours, and down to 
Ulm. We changed trains at Ulm, 
waiting an hour. All seemed well so 
far and no great irregularities of any 
sort were noticed. We had purchased 
a few postcards and stamps while in 
Munich, but we failed to post them. 
They were written in English and ad- 
dressed to friends in the States. No 



33 



sooner were they out of my hands 
than a poHceman appeared and de- 
manded our passports. He examined 
and gave them back, saying that the 
stamps on our cards were Bavarian 
and were worthless there. Besides, 
the fact that we were on our way to 
another city was of itself a ground of 
suspicion. He inquired where we 
were going and how long we expected 
to stay in Germany. He apologized 
when he heard our answers, and per- 
mitted us to go on. Seven o'clock 
the same evening found us in the 
small town of Sigmaringen Hohen- 
zollern, named for its castle which is 
still in use. The present Kaiser's 
family came from there. We stayed 
there from Wednesday until Sunday 
without being disturbed or seeing any 
signs of warefare other than those 
which in other cities had become 
familiar to us. Soldiers in uniform 
were on the streets and were also 
doing duty as railroad station guards. 
Some were from hospitals, the at- 
tendants always wearing the soldiers' 
uniform. Patients too were often 



34 



seen on the streets with arms in 
sHngs and with heads in bandages. 
In the stations of the larger cities the 
departure of soldiers was a common 
sight. Gray-haired parents were 
battling with their emotions. The 
mother's tears would fall and gain a 
victory over every effort to smile as 
she waved to her own. The train 
rolled relentlessly on to give up its 
charge to the military, whose power 
is similarly cold and great. 

Zurich, Switzerland, was our im- 
mediate destination. Two changes of 
train were scheduled for us. Three 
would be necessary we were told 
after we started. Six is what we 
finally had to make in order to reach 
Zurich the same day. This lead us to 
give up our suitcases and check them. 
The minute we checked our baggage 
the station guard asked to see our 
passports. After he had held them 
for a time, staring blankly, I asked 
him to hand them back, knowing the 
priceless value of those bits of paper. 
Another more intelligent looking 
official next demanded them. He 



seemed to comprehend them and al- 
lowed us to proceed. This was not 
for long, however. The next episode 
of the day must be credited to the in- 
spection officers at Schaffhausen, on 
the border between Germany and 
Switzerland. Here we were re- 
quested to get off the train because 
our passports were not up to the 
minute. The new issue required a 
declaration on the passports stating 
the destination of the traveler. Our 
passports were minus this informa- 
tion, though we had called on the 
consul of Germany at Budapest, as 
well as on our American consul to 
have them examined. We also very 
innocently had committed another 
crime. Sealed letters were found in 
our possession, which had been given 
us to mail by soldiers. This made 
them very suspicious and the officer 
commanded us to burn the letters 
immediately, before his very eyes. 
This, of course, we did, although not 
before he tried to read them — one 
was written in Polish. We were 
taken into a small room at the rail- 



36 



road station, of which the only other 
occupants were a dozen or more sol- 
diers on duty. If we had not been 
dealing with soldiers all winter we 
might have felt somewhat alarmed, 
but as it was we knew them to be 
quite human. The officer suggested 
that it might be necessary to detain 
us all night in that strange place, in 
charge of the military. I asked if he 
could not telephone or telegraph to 
some other authority. This he 
finally did, and after demanding to 
know how much gold we had in our 
possession, he allowed us to go on 
the next train. We took our bag and 
baggage and left Gottmandingen, 
feeling it a relief to get away from 
the military authorities, especially as 
it was dark and we were the only 
women. An unfriendly feeling to- 
ward Americans was evident. 

A different atmosphere was felt 
as soon as we reached Switzerland, 
and it seemed good not to be looked 
upon with suspicion. This was a 
neutral country, a haven of joy. 



Ef& drnaa 5^«rafa' 
©nmman&mpnta* 

I am thy Uncle Sam, who hath 
brought thee out of the land of the 
free. 

Thou shalt have no other flag be- 
fore thee, false impressions, or any 
likeness of anything which is un- 
censored, news from the wireless 
above, the earth, or the cables be- 
neath the waters. 

Thou shalt not bow down thyself, 
to any one country, nor serve them, 
for I, thy master, thy Uncle Sam, 
am a jealous Uncle, visiting the in- 
iquities of the nurses upon them who 
follow, even unto the third and fourth 
shipment; but giving honor to those 
who obey my commandments. 

Thou shalt not take the name of 
thy port in vain, for the President, 
thy ruler, will not hold her guiltless, 
who betrays her neutrality. 



38 



Remember thy training school and 
keep it honored. 

Seven days shalt thou labor and 
do all thy work. The seventh day is 
the Sabbath, in it thou shalt labor as 
strenously as thou hast during any of 
the preceding days of the week. 

Honor thy country and the Red 
Cross that thy days may be long in 
the strange land to which you are 
sent to succor. 

Thou shalt not primp. 

Thou shalt not commit any 
amorous deeds. 

Thou shalt not flirt. 

Thou shalt not countenance any 
unkind gossip against one another. 

Thou shalt not covet thy sister's 
good looks. Thou shalt not covet 
thy sister's admirers, nor her sea- 
proof stomach, nor her hardtack, nor 
her knapsack, not anything that is 
thy sister's. 

A. c. L. 

(Copied) 
*Not to be taken seriously. 



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